Lovewrecked - Karina Halle Page 0,4
the couple that is blocking the aisle and taking way too long to put their stuff away and get in their seats.
The guy turns to me and gives me an apologetic smile. He’s cute and he knows it, and that smile is way too friendly for someone who looks like he’s in a serious relationship with the girl currently trying to sit down.
He apologizes and steps out of the way, and I swear to god he winks at me as he does so.
Ew. Even on my best days I have disdain for guys like that, but ever since the breakup, my tolerance is at an all-time low.
I bend down and grab my suitcase, hoisting it up over my head to put it in the bin.
“Let me help you with that,” he says, moving closer, even though it’s obvious I don’t need any help at all. Working in athleisure wear has ensured I work out a lot and I’m a lot stronger than I look.
Meanwhile, I can’t help but glance at his girlfriend who is sitting down in her seat and glaring at me, as if I’m not to be trusted. I’m distracted enough that the suitcase slips out of my hands and before I can stop it, it falls and bonks the guy right in the head.
Ow.
That’s gotta hurt.
“I’m so sorry!” I cry out, awkwardly trying to regain control of the suitcase.
The guy holds onto his head where the wheel hit him, wincing in pain, trying to smile like he’s fine.
I quickly manage to shove the suitcase into the bin and apologize again, just as his girlfriend says, “That’s what you get,” to him in a smug voice.
“That’s what I get for trying to help?” he asks her, voice raised, as if that hit a nerve more than my falling suitcase did.
Oh boy.
I swiftly get in my seat by the window, shove my purse beside me, and bring out my noise-cancelling headphones. I can tell the couple is about to get into a fight and I don’t want any part of it. My own wounds are too fresh.
It’s a thirteen-hour flight across the Pacific, the longest flight I’ve ever been on. After dinner is served, and I’ve had some complimentary red wine, I’ve watched every move I want to watch, and it’s time for the Skycouch.
I take off my headphones, the cabin lights already dim, and bring out the information card that tells you how to create your bed.
I’ve only read the first sentence when I notice the row in front of me is starting to shake.
Repeatedly.
The dregs of wine in the bottom of my glass start to slosh back and forth on the tray table.
There is some turbulence, so I don’t think much of it.
But the seats don’t seem to be moving with the turbulence.
Wait…
Are they…?
And then I hear it.
A low moan.
Oh my god.
They can’t be…
“Oh god, yes,” the girl’s breathless voice comes from the seat, and through the tiny gap between the seats I can see bodies moving.
Oh my god.
They are.
They’re having sex right in front of me!
Even though I know they can’t see me, I can feel my cheeks immediately go to Tomato Zone One. I’m notorious for blushing easily, and if it gets really bad my whole face will match my dark strawberry blonde hair and all my freckles will meld together.
What do I do?
I look around, trying to see if anyone else is seeing (or hearing) this, but everyone is lying down, sound asleep. I crane my head around, hoping to spot a flight attendant, but I don’t see any. Besides, what am I going to do, rat on them?
I mean, I probably should…
“Lower, lower,” the girl says. “Yes!”
Oh hell no.
I put my headphones back on and sit back, trying to watch another movie on the seatback. But of course that keeps shaking and shaking. The turbulence has nothing on those two.
How long is this going to go on for?
I’m getting over a breakup, I’m heading across an ocean to go to a wedding all alone, can’t I catch a break?
But no, the seats continue to shake, and I swear I can hear the moans through my headphones, and they aren’t showing any signs of stopping.
This is hell.
There’s only one thing for me to do.
I undo my belt and raise the arm rests, slowly sidling out of my row.
I know I shouldn’t look at them, I know I need to just ignore them.
But either watching strangers do it on a plane is some new kink